


The Closest to Heaven That I'll Ever Be

by tigersbride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Denial, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Miracles, Pain, Post-Episode: s13e04 The Big Empty, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersbride/pseuds/tigersbride
Summary: It’s the sight of a familiar tan fabric that starts to rip his heart into two distinct pieces. Dean scans up its owner’s slack clad legs, his eyes fall upon the coat’s belt, because its a trench, and with more pain in his chest than he knew was ever possible, he catches sight of the blue tie. He can’t look any higher up out of fear of what he’s going to see. He knows the pain he’ll feel, and he hates himself for it. More so, he hates whatever monster is exploiting his agony to show him the face of the man he’s lost.





	The Closest to Heaven That I'll Ever Be

It had been obvious the minute that Sam had walked down the bunker’s stairs that something was up. Dean had looked up, eyes narrow, because where the fuck was Jack if not with his brother? And Sam had immediately predicted this reaction, holding two hands up in peace and warning. 

 _Something’s happened._ He’d said. 

So naturally Dean’s heart had pounded with all of the pain he was holding in, because what else could _possibly_ get worse? A small part of him yearned for a win. Maybe Jack had met with an unfortunate fate, and that was the explanation for this absence. He should be so lucky. Nothing ever went his way. He’d only just got his family back and they were taken. He’d only just started to come to terms with his feelings for — no. Stop. 

And now, Dean looks up nervously, because Sammy is gesturing up to the steps he’d just walked down from. Between Dean’s fingers is a whiskey glass that he’d refilled more times than Sammy needed to know about, and he grips it until his fingers are white because what the _fuck_ is happening? And he’s so damned scared. All that Sam can see on his face though, is curiosity, because he’s turning into such a good fucking actor that he could give the Oscars a run for their money, right about now. Or so he feels. But then again, maybe he’s just barely holding it together.

It’s the sight of a familiar tan fabric that starts to rip his heart into two distinct pieces. Initially, his mind jumps to Jack’s jacket, which he hates because it suits him so fucking well and makes him look so much like the father he’d never get to meet, the angel they’d lost, the angel whose name he can’t even think any more. But this coat is longer, and as Dean scans up its owner’s slack clad legs, his eyes fall upon the coat’s belt, because its a trench, and with more pain in his chest than he knew was ever possible, he catches sight of the blue tie. He can’t look any higher up out of fear of what he’s going to see. He knows the pain he’ll feel, and he hates himself for it. More so, he hates whatever monster is exploiting his agony to show him the face of the man he’s lost. 

Dean can’t look any more, and instead, he’s staring at the whiskey in his glass, sucking in a deep breath. The atmosphere is so tense that he can almost feel the air getting hotter around him as his hands begin to shake, grip tightening until he hears a crack, and the whiskey pours into gashes in his hand created by the glass. He swallows, and looks instead at his brother, who eyes him cautiously, like he can see that this will be hard for him. He has no fucking idea. Sam smiles then, though, he smiles. Smiles like he’s saving the goddamn day rather than making it even fucking harder. Dean has to resist the urge to push him against a wall in a fit of anger because the monster wearing the angel’s skin doesn’t deserve the fucking satisfaction. 

From the stairs, the being shifts, and the nephilim appears behind him. Dean still can’t look up into their faces. He just can’t. Until they start to descend together, anyway, and now Dean has to look at the floor instead. 

“You gotta deal with… whatever this is.” Dean says, knowing Sammy will get the idea. He’s pointed out enough times how much he’s been struggling with the angel’s death for his brother to know how broken he is right about now. “I — I can’t.” 

He’s turned and walked away before the others can even begin to process his words, but it’s not his brother, nor the nephilim that chase him down the hall. _Why_ they’ve let the monster off its leash he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t stop him from turning and smashing it against the wall with the rage of a thousand fucking fires, finally, _finally_ looking into its face, into _his_ face, into the goddamn blue eyes that have haunted his nights in the weeks since he saw them for the last time. 

“Hello, Dean.” The thing says, the gravelly tone he’s missed so much turning into poison deep within his ears and making his head spin with agony that is so intense he wants to scream. 

Dean has never been more glad that he’s been armed permanently, even at home ever since all that shit went down, and he pulls his pistol out, pushing the butt against the monster’s temple with force and spite and anger, because _how fucking dare it_ use his voice and his face and make him feel so much worse? He’s glad its still got the silver bullets loaded, too, because it’s so much more likely to be a shifter than anything else. It’s not a revenant, he burned him. It’s not a ghost because he’s clinging to his lapels and they’re as real at the hot breath hitting his cheeks. His mind processes the options while he glares, angrier than ever before, into the thing’s gaze. 

He’s aware enough of his surroundings to know that Sammy and Jack have caught up now, too, and he can hear that Sam is insisting the impossible. There’s no way this really could be the angel, so whatever it is has succeeded in tricking his brother too. He’s too tunnel visioned on the monster to focus, anyway. 

With the hand that isn’t holding a gun to the thing’s head, he pulls out the silver knife from his belt.  The monster’s gaze softens, like it feels fucking _sorry for him_ , and obediently, it holds out its hand. Dean slashes it without a second thought, desperate to inflict pain when he’s suffering so much himself. The thing doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t bleed, and Dean watches the cut heal before his own eyes, and he swallows. A part of him had thought this was Mia, but apparently not. A demon, then? Because it can’t… it can’t be. 

“Holy water.” He spits, a request to his brother. His eyes are still locked in a furious battle with this… this thing, that’s staring back at him like he wants to help. It’s so much like how the angel used to look at him that he nearly crumbles, but he holds firm, fury burning within him. 

“Dean… I have… I’ve done the tests.” Sammy is saying, but again, _holy water_ , Dean snaps. He has to see this for himself. 

When he’s handed a vial he throws the contents right in the monster’s face, and somehow the pain gets even worse when nothing happens. The thing in front of him doesn’t hiss and burn like it should, it just wrinkles up its dumb face and blinks away the wetness. 

So there’s only one other option, really. 

“I’m dreaming.” Dean says, eyes cracking with tears he’s been holding in for too many weeks now. The gun drops to the floor, and the thing that looks like the angel eyes him sadly, but Dean’s too fucking done to resist when it pulls him into its chest, because the sobs are wracking out of him now and he’s shaking with them. Maybe he’s had a bit too much whiskey, but his hands wrap around the monster’s back as he cries against its chest, desperate for the contact he never got to have with the angel. It buries its head in his hair, humming gently in some weak ass attempt to calm him down. He’ll never be alright again after this. 

“I’m dreaming.” Dean repeats, and the thing is shaking its head and insisting that no, they’re both awake, but there’s no way on this green earth that he can be right, because that would be too much of a miracle and Dean doesn’t get miracles. He lifts his head, nuzzling into the thing’s neck, because he may as well enjoy it before he dies of this stupid pain, and the monster’s hand is on the back of his head, holding him so closely and making him feel… making him feel loved. It’s far too dangerous but he’s much too weak to deny it. 

“I have to be dreaming, because I love you, and I burned you before I could tell you.” Dean says, and who cares that Sammy has just heard the truth because this is a dream and he’ll wake in a cold sweat any second now, anyway. “I’m dreaming.” 

“You’re not dreaming.” The monster in the angel’s body tells him. “I’m here.” 

What he’d have given to hear these words, but now that he’s heard them he realises he can’t believe them. 

“You’ll never be here again.” Dean sobs. “You’re dead.” 

“No.” It shakes its head against his, and Dean can feel its heart beating just as quickly as his own. “You have no faith, Dean.” 

His breath catches because he’s replaying it now, that second where the angel walked into his life, and how the hell could a monster know what he’d been told that night in the barn? He was the only person there that was still alive to know, and he’d never told. 

The thing takes his face between its hands, cold hands, skin dry but soft, and pulls him back so that their eyes lock again. 

“I’m here.” It whispers, and its hands drop to his shirt, peeling open the top two buttons while he watches with curiosity, powerless to do anything but let the thing have what it wants, because he can’t kill something that looks like the angel even if he wants to. The monster trails a hand across his collar as he shivers, and it drags to his shoulder, gripping it suddenly. 

A heat, hot and white, erupts from somewhere within Dean, and he knows he screams, because suddenly memories are flooding through him, memories that no one, nothing but _Castiel_ could possibly know about. A handprint on his skin. His arm around his shoulder as they laugh, their fingers brushing as he hands him a mixtape, glances that are exchanged for far too long and looks of betrayal and sadness and sorrow, but also of hope and trust… and love. An _I love you_ whispered in a moment of peril. 

When the wave passes, he drops to his knees, vaguely aware that the tingling in his hand is now gone, that the bleeding gashes from where he crushed the glass are healed, because somehow, this really _is_ the angel, this _is_ Castiel. 

Castiel drops slowly down to meet him, crouching on his two feet, trench pooling on the ground, and Dean leans into him again, forehead meeting the angel’s firm chest, breathing out the last of his tears as he’s enveloped by strong arms. The last time he kneeled, it was over this angel’s body. 

It was all a bit too much to handle, if he was honest. Dean spent his whole evening gently shaking, whether it was the shock or the whiskey or the pure joy that Cas had somehow come back, he didn’t know. He’d listened intently, to the tales of the Empty, to the voice Cas had heard calling him awake, to how Jack had woken Sam and insisted they chase across the country on his hunch. He’d hardly looked at the kid, though. It wasn’t that it was still painful, because god knows he was grateful, now, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the living and breathing angel, who’d barely torn his eyes away, either. 

If he’d been told days ago that his angel would come back to him, he’d have said it would make him happy. But somehow? Somehow it almost made matters worse. He had that little bit of hope back, sure, and he thought that maybe things could one day be _alright_ again, whereas before he’d been set that his life would be awful for his remaining eternity. But his pain, the one that burned deep within his chest and flared into his conscious mind, leaving him angry and wanting, had never been stronger. His resolution, that if he was ever given the chance, he’d tell the angel how he felt, had dropped to the sidelines. But he _had_ told him. He’d said those three words he’d said fewer times than you could count on one hand over the course of his life. He’d told him, and the world hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t stopped and literally fucking nothing had changed. Maybe the angel didn’t feel the same, after all. Things had carried on like normal. Not even Sam had mentioned it.

And the worst part, was now he knew what he had to lose. He knew what the pain was like without him. He knew that he couldn’t, wouldn’t survive that loss again. But that was the thing with the angel, wasn’t it? He always left. He’d been able to wear these rose tinted glasses when he was dead, think of all the times they’d shared and look back with fond memories and love, forgetting about all the times they’d hurt each other, all the times Cas had _left._ But now that he was back, it was all he could think about, all he could dream about. He hadn’t slept properly since before the angel had died.

It had all come to blows eventually. 

Over the course of the next few weeks it was becoming increasingly obvious that things were going from bad to worse in the monster world. Their cases were multiplying exponentially, becoming more challenging and more dangerous, and he’d had to catch himself more than once from yelling at his best friend when Cas had done something stupid like put himself in the firing line to protect them, because god-fucking-damnit he could _not_ lose him again. But not only were they in more danger, but the monsters were getting closer to Lebanon, like they were drawn to something. Like they were drawn to Jack. 

So it was Castiel that finally addressed it, the elephant in the room that they’d all seen coming. They were sitting around the table in the war room one night, Dean clutching a cold one and picking at the label on the bottle, because he could feel it, the tension, and he somehow knew he was about to have his heart broken again. Maybe it was the look on Castiel’s face that gave it away, the guilt in his eyes, the slight nibble on his lip. 

“We’re putting you in danger, being here.” Castiel says finally, meaning himself and the kid. His eyes are all on Dean, but he knows the statement includes Sam, too. 

“Do you think they can feel that he’s here?” Sam just sounds curious, not desperate, not angry, not protesting. It’s confirmation, really, that he’s never truly understood _just_ how Dean feels about Cas. 

“It would seem too much of a coincidence, the pattern of these cases? We’re at the epicentre.” Cas continues, and Dean can hear the hesitation in his tone, and a selfish part of him hopes that this is difficult for him, too. He wants it to hurt, having to leave, because he can’t be alone in this horrible pain, he just can’t. 

“So what should we do?” Sam asks, and Dean wonders if he’d intended to put these thoughts in his head, that maybe, if they had to leave, they could all leave _together_. This bunker wasn’t a home without Cas in it, anyway. It had felt more and more like a prison every day he’d been absent. And besides, they’d never had these comforts before. They could go back to life on the road if it was the safest thing to do. And maybe they could come back if this thing all blows over. 

“I think it’s for the best if I leave with Jack. I can take him somewhere he can’t be found, raise him, protect him.” Castiel is almost whispering, like he knows how deep the words are cutting through Dean’s heart. If that’s even the word for it. The pain is so intense he feels pathetic for letting it get to him so fiercely. But he can’t do this. He can’t listen to it, can’t accept the apology in the angel’s eyes. Dean stands suddenly, mouth parted a little like he has something to say, but the words die on his tongue. He’s just embarrassing himself, so he turns, hands coming up to his head as he storms away from the war room. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he wasn’t allowed to get far. Whatever he thinks about the angel he can’t possibly deny that Cas _cares_. He’s not even halfway back to his room when he hears footsteps hurrying behind him, and he’s only got another few feet when a hand grips his arm and spins him roughly around. He hasn’t let them fall, the tears brewing in his eyes, but they’re threatening to spill out and he knows Cas can see them. The angel just looks sorry for him, and it makes him angry. He wishes he’d never admitted to loving him, because he’s broken, but he’s not a fucking charity case. 

“Dean.” Cas says softly, crowding him back against the wall so he can’t escape. His arms are pinned by the angel’s strong hands, and his breath catches in his throat at the emotion in his eyes. “I’m doing this to protect you.” 

“No you’re not.” Dean replies, voice cracking with the weight of all his fucking pain. “You’re doing it to protect _him._ ” 

Castiel’s brow furrows curiously, like he can’t possibly understand how Dean could think that, like he’s wrong and he should understand that. He doesn’t. “Why do you think this is about Jack? The beings, the monsters… they’re closing in on you here. Soon they’ll be at your door. _Your_ door. I’m drawing them away from you.” 

“If you really wanted to protect me…” Dean has to swallow, because he can’t quite believe he’s about to say this. He can’t hold it in though, either. “Then you’d stop leaving me.” 

“I don’t _want_ to leave you.” Castiel says slowly, and despite himself Dean believes him, because the emotion in his eyes is as intense as it is in Dean’s heart. He looks like he’s about to carry on justifying this stupid plan, but Dean cuts him off before he can continue. 

“Then don’t.” He snaps. “Stay and fight with us. Haven’t you realised what happens when we split up? Someone gets killed. We’re stronger together. Team fucking Free Will.” 

And at that Cas lets go of his arms, pausing in thought, but it’s Dean’s escape, and he takes it, turning away from the angel that’s killing him and tearing back to his room without a second thought. He barricades his door with his back as he slumps down to the ground, dropping his head into his knees, and its been a while but tonight he finally cries. His tears soak into the denim of his jeans and drip onto the floor, and he shakes with his sobs as he desperately tries to gasp the air back in. He’s broken and hollow, and only the angel can make him feel full. 

That night was worse than the others. It took time, but he did succumb to sleep eventually. He got maybe a couple of hours before the dreaming began, and how many times his unconscious mind replays the same scene, a dagger appearing in the angel’s chest, his body dropping to the ground with a thud, those clipped and broken goddamn wings splayed out under him, burned into the ground, he doesn’t know. He sees it all, the corpse he wrapped, the pyre, he feels it again, the pain of losing him. He recalls how he’d begged and prayed and pleaded for someone, anyone to please listen and give him back, his _everything_. 

He’s screaming when he wakes up. 

As soon as his bedroom comes into focus he stifles his sounds, but he can’t cope with this any more. He can’t process his pain on his own. His eyes are still streaming tears and his heart is still pounding away, but he drags back his comforter and storms out of his room, chasing down the corridor to where Castiel spends his nights, and he rips open the door without knocking. 

The angel looks up in surprise. He’s standing too, like he wanted to go to him, only a few feet inside the room, eyes red rimmed and puffy and cheeks as damp as Dean’s own. Dean crashes into him, sobbing, without warning, and Cas wraps his arms tightly around the hunter’s back as he lets his tears fall into his shoulder. 

“Nightmare.” Dean chokes out his explanation, but Cas is nodding already. 

“I know. I can feel it.” Cas admits. “I’ve felt them all.” 

Dean gasps in a breath but he doesn’t know whether to feel validated, or annoyed that Cas has been feeling his struggle for so long without helping him. He knows how he would have reacted had Castiel intruded, so it was probably better that this first move was his own. He nods against the angel’s chest, because it’s a thought for another day, and Cas just stands there and holds him until they’re both cried out. 

Eventually, they pull back, but it’s not awkward, it’s not tense, it’s peaceful. It’s almost freeing, the admittance that nothing is ok. Castiel watches him, a hand still on the back of his head, and Dean can’t help but drop his gaze to look quickly down at the angel’s damp lips. It’s a mistake, and he flashes his stare straight back up to Castiel’s eyes. If the angel noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“You need to sleep.” Cas says after a long pause. Dean can admit that he’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, so he nods his agreement. “I’ll watch over you.” 

Once upon a time that was creepy, but now that he knows the angel as well as he does it feels intimate and protective. So Dean smiles softly, and Cas smiles back. The angel takes a step closer to the bed in his room that never gets used, because the angel of course doesn’t sleep, and Dean shakes his head. 

“I’ve got a better mattress.” He says, and at that they both let out a little chuckle. 

A few minutes later, and Dean’s climbing back into his own bed. Castiel is hovering awkwardly, until he takes a chair from the side of the room and drags it close to the bed. Dean doesn’t know how to ask him to climb in too, but he can sense that Cas wants it as badly as he does. The angel has sat on the chair, is looking down at him with caring eyes, and Dean decides it’s now or never, but he isn’t sleeping with Cas sat there like that. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just scoots back and lifts up the sheets. It’s enough, though, because after a cautious look that Dean gets around with a coy smile, Cas stands again, shirking off his shoes, trench coat and suit jacket — that he’s apparently still wearing at 2am — and slips under the covers with him. 

They’re both a bit awkward, because cuddling is not something either of them are used to, but Dean needs it tonight more than he ever has done. He lifts his head, and Cas realises what he wants, threading an arm behind him that Dean rests his neck on, and he shuffles closer, draping an arm over the angel’s middle while Cas clutches his back. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas whispers into the night a short while later, and Dean knows what he means. I’m sorry for dying. I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry for all of the times I’ve left. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for the nightmares. I’m sorry for your pain.  

“Me too.” Dean agrees, and it’s his forgiveness, too. He can feel Castiel’s smile against his forehead, and although he’s more at peace than he has been in the longest time, he longs for those lips just to kiss him, to finally make him _his._  

He forgets that the angel can sense longing. It confuses him when Cas shuffles a little uncomfortably. 

“If you want something, you only need to ask.” Castiel breathes, and Dean’s heart almost stops on the spot, because it sounds like… no, it can’t be, but it sounds like Cas might want it, too. 

So he settles on something simpler. 

“I want you to stay.” Dean admits. 

The angel smiles against him again, and he can almost feel his eyes rolling in his head. Dean pulls back to look up into Castiel’s eyes, and the angel is watching him like he’s a disobedient kid that he’s got a soft spot for. He smiles, and Cas nods. “For you, I’ll stay.” The angel agrees. 

His lips curl into a smile brighter than any he’s worn in weeks, and the happiness of the fact gives him confidence he didn’t have before. Dean watches him, and he’s not an angel but he can feel Castiel’s longing as strongly as his own. 

“If you want something, you only need to ask.” He repeats Castiel’s words, and the angel furrows his brow in hesitation. Castiel doesn’t speak, just continues to watch him curiously, as if hoping that he’ll carry on and make a move. He sees how the angel’s gaze dips to his lips, feels how his palms are getting sweatier on the skin of his hip. He knows now, for certain, that the angel wants him too. 

“You told me.” Dean whispers. “When Ramiel… when you were… you told me. And when you came back, I told you.” 

A hesitant, cautious smile curls the angel’s lips, because it can’t be misinterpreted, now, it just can’t. But he doesn’t move in, and his eyes stay locked on Dean’s. So the hunter takes the leap, because he can’t live any longer without this. He surges forward, hovering just inches from the angel’s lips, and relief washes through him when Castiel matches him, finally pressing their lips together in a gentle, chaste kiss. 

He’s dreamed about it happening in every possible way, but none were as perfect as this. In his head he’d had the angel backed up against a wall, or Cas had pinned him to the ground, but this was less about lust and more about love and never had a kiss made him feel so complete before. Never had another being made him feel so complete before. 

It didn’t last long, just a few seconds, followed up with a few more small pecks, but it was all they needed right now. The rest of it could wait. 

“Rest, now.” Castiel whispered as he pulled Dean’s head back into his neck, kissing his forehead with those soft lips. And Dean nodded obediently, closing his eyes even though his heart was still pounding with relief and joy. 

When, after a few minutes, he was no closer to being asleep, Cas brought two fingers up to his forehead, and he felt that familiar tingle of his angel’s grace as his thoughts cleared and his heart settled. His eyes closed again, and his breathing steadied, as he finally succumbed for good. 

Twelve whole hours passed, the angel holding him tightly. It was the best nights sleep he’d had in years, or perhaps ever, and he only woke up eventually when Cas pushed on his shoulder urgently. 

“Dean?” Sammy’s voice was at his door, but he was far too disoriented to have figured out that he didn’t want to get caught right now, so his hold on the angel’s waist held firm as his brother entered the room. 

He heard the gasp of surprise, and he looked up to see Castiel’s eyes, trained cautiously on Sam, but the smile on his face beat the embarrassment, so Dean beamed too, as he looked back at his brother. Sammy was always going to find out eventually, he supposed, and like hell was he spending another night without the angel in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's very infuriating how destiel heavy this season is because I can't seem to watch an episode without a stupidly intense urge to write a reunion coda every damned time! It's probably not getting any better until we've had what is probably going to be (let's be honest here) a very disappointing real reunion, but it's giving me serious writer's block for my other story because all these head canons are trying to come out. But anyway, here you go, have another one. Hope you enjoy it...!


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